


Paresthesia (Harpstring Moon)

by MxMearcstapa



Series: Lunar Haruspex: A Blue Lions Story [5]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Byleth is finally allowed to use student names now, Crests (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), F/M, Female My Unit | Byleth, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Gen, Mentioned Blue Lions Students (Fire Emblem), Mild Language, My Unit | Byleth Has Emotions, POV My Unit | Byleth, Pre-Timeskip Dimileth, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sassy Sothis, Slow Burn, actual game dialogue, and there are a lot of smiles, dimileth, gameplay retelling, somehow this is fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27691979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxMearcstapa/pseuds/MxMearcstapa
Summary: “I could be mistaken, but…didn’t we have an individual lesson scheduled for today?”There was no avoiding the mistake. Swallowing her pride, Byleth asked, “…what day is it?”Eternally cordial, Dimitri replied, “I believe it’s Thursday, Professor.”Byleth flipped back through her notebook to the calendar with the schedule. There, under Thursday, in her small, scratchy hand, was Dimitri’s name, the same as she had written it only moments prior.Shit.In which Byleth at last learns the names of her students (and a couple things more) and wrestles with a strange new feeling.
Relationships: Blue Lions Students & My Unit | Byleth, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth & Sothis
Series: Lunar Haruspex: A Blue Lions Story [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584496
Comments: 16
Kudos: 74





	Paresthesia (Harpstring Moon)

**Author's Note:**

> *waves* Hello! It's here! Chapter five is here!! Thank you for your patience, and please enjoy~

Byleth sat, quill in hand, at her desk in the empty classroom, surrounded by open books. In front of her, a small notebook was opened to a blank page. She leafed through a couple pages of the book on her right, dipped her quill in ink, and wrote a single word across the top of the notebook page: _Goals_. She underlined it. Beneath it, to one side, a name. _Dimitri_.

Byleth paused.

It was a personal notebook. The students were unlikely to see it. But perhaps it would be better to use their names for such a list instead of the nicknames she had given them.

“If only you knew them,” Sothis said, swinging her feet off the edge of the desk. She sat at the edge—or hovered near it—Byleth could not tell which. As far as Byleth _could_ tell, Sothis could not physically interact with any object when she manifested outside of Byleth’s head, still invisible and unknown to the world around her. Rather than walk, the girl liked to float at least a foot off the ground, following Byleth around or reading over her shoulder.

Or reading her thoughts.

Sothis continued, fixing Byleth with a teasing grin. “If only they used one another’s names aloud, so that you might learn them. But alas, no! They never speak each other’s names, and so it remains a great mystery.”

Byleth gazed at her levelly. “You don’t know them either.”

The grin dropped from the girl’s face.

“I…must admit that is so,” she conceded. “There are many names and faces here. It is difficult to keep them straight. Though, I am often asleep; _you_ are their professor.”

Byleth took a deep breath and looked back down at the mostly-blank page. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t been trying to learn their names—in fact, she was certain she had said a few of them aloud at some point. But they were elusive, like fish on a line. Just when she thought she had pulled them out of the murky water, they wriggled out of her grasp and slipped back into the depths. There were a couple Byleth thought she almost remembered—she was certain Flirty Redhead had a name that started with an “S,” and their best healer was something like Mer…Mer…

The rest would not come to her. Byleth exhaled in frustration.

Sothis turned only half-towards her. “They will come, with time.”

“I don’t _have_ time,” Byleth grumbled. A week had passed since her class received its first mission—and the idea of a mission irked her, too; there was yet another thing to track—and though she was pushing her students hard, they were still so far from where they needed to be to survive.

They were strong. Of that, she had little doubt. Against each other, they were fairly evenly matched, their techniques effective and their hits potent. None of the ensuing spars had produced as dramatic a result as Flirty Redhead’s broken nose, but her students had otherwise been to the infirmary with such frequency that the physician had inquired what _precisely_ Byleth was teaching them. If Byleth had been able to heal them herself, she would have abstained from sending students to the infirmary altogether—but she was not so stubborn as to turn a blind eye to her own weaknesses.

Nor was she skilled enough to avoid them.

Byleth thought at first to train the students to their strengths—but their strengths so wildly varied that to help them, she needed to learn more. And besides that, there were several things she thought some of them _should_ be focusing on that they weren’t. She had taken as many books as the library would allow her, and spent the morning making notes before she considered making a plan of what each student’s focus ought to be as well.

“You have more time than you realize,” Sothis chided. She turned to face Byleth fully, floating up so they were at eye level. “What you lack is patience, and the wisdom to utilize the time you do have.”

Something flared in Byleth, hot and stinging. She set the quill down ungently and glared at her notebook. So low and forceful it surprised even her, she spoke, “I am trying.”

“Professor Eisner?”

Byleth blinked and looked up. Sothis was gone; instead, Dimitri stood in front of her, back straight, his hands folded behind him. His gaze was averted, but by the redness of his cheeks, Byleth was certain he had heard her speak just now. She picked the quill back up, running her fingers over the fringe. Exactly how long had he been standing there?

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said with an apologetic smile. “I can return at a later time if that’s preferable.”

“Your unawareness never ceases to amaze,” Sothis mused. Byleth inhaled sharply.

“You’re not interrupting,” she said aloud. “What is it?”

Dimitri shifted and looked to the floor. Byleth’s stomach dropped. That reaction told her she had responded incorrectly. Why? It had seemed a perfectly reasonable thing to say—she had addressed and dismissed his concern—so where had she erred? Had she forgotten something?

“I could be mistaken, but…didn’t we have an individual lesson scheduled for today?”

Byleth blinked. In her fervent researching, not only had she forgotten she had scheduled individual lessons to begin with, but she had forgotten which days she had scheduled them—and consequently, what day it presently was.

There was no avoiding the mistake. Swallowing her pride, Byleth asked, “…what day is it?”

Eternally cordial, Dimitri replied, “I believe it’s Thursday, Professor.”

Byleth flipped back through her notebook to the calendar with the schedule. There, under Thursday, in her small, scratchy hand, was Dimitri’s name, the same as she had written it only moments prior.

_Shit_.

Sothis laughed. “Truly, it never ceases.”

_Go take a nap_ , Byleth thought. She flipped forward through the pages to the empty goals list and pursed her lips. The ink had smudged, now as indecipherable as her memory.

“As I said, I can come back another time,” Dimitri offered. Byleth shook her head, an idea taking hold as she eyed the ink stains. She turned to a clean page and looked up at him.

“Would you mind assisting me?”

Dimitri did not even hesitate a moment.

“I’d be delighted to, Professor. What do you need?”

A mild warmth flooded Byleth, the relief something strange. Like during the mock battle, when Dimitri had supplied her the name of Lady Knight without question or judgment. His alacrity was not altogether unpleasant, she decided. Byleth dipped her quill and poised to write.

“The names of your classmates.”

He smiled at her, bright like sunlight. It struck Byleth that there were several things about the monastery and its people that she disliked with certainty—and Dimitri’s smile was not one of them. The feeling in her chest warmed into something stronger, its unfamiliarity startling her. Quickly, Byleth looked down, hoping the sensation would pass.

“I’m honestly surprised you didn’t ask sooner—I feared you had changed your mind.”

Would that that were the case. Byleth had simply hoped she wouldn’t need to ask. She knew Dimitri had been saying the names of the others more frequently for her benefit—but they had not stuck. If she wrote them down, however…then, they could not escape her.

Her inquiry was brisk—the more quickly she asked and received answers, the sooner this battle would end—and then she had them, the fish pinned to the dock with a dagger. Something triumphant unfolded inside of her.

“Is that all you wanted to know, Professor?”

“Yes,” Byleth said, suddenly very uncertain. Why would he phrase it so? What was she missing? “…is there more I should know?”

Dimitri tilted his head in consideration. “I suppose that depends on what you know already. You’re certainly familiar with our martial abilities, but there are other details of import, such as territories of origin, Crests, birthdays—why, Annette’s birthday is tomorrow, and Mercedes’ is at the end of the month.”

Byleth blinked. She didn’t know most of those things about the students, though she could see the value in knowing them—all but the last one. A day of birth? Was that important? If he mentioned it with the others, it must have been. The back of her neck prickled. Something told Byleth that asking about it would earn her a strange look, but based on the way Dimitri regarded her, he was expecting a response. Rapidly, caught in her indecision, she blinked again.

“Well, you must respond in _some_ capacity,” Sothis hissed, reappearing so suddenly that Byleth nearly jumped. “He is staring at us like we’ve grown a second head!”

_But what do I say?_ Byleth asked.

“At least acknowledge the statement!”

“…birth day?” Byleth said. Sothis groaned.

Dimitri’s incredulous expression nearly incited Byleth to get up and leave the room, consequences be damned.

“You would not dare!” Sothis cried. “You will learn nothing if you flee. You are unflinching in battle; make conversation into a similar art.”

Byleth set her jaw, clenched her fist, and waited for Dimitri to speak again. He shook his head, smile tentative, mouth hanging open a few moments as he searched for words. They tumbled out, disbelieving as the look in his eyes.

“Pardon my rudeness, Professor, but…have you never celebrated a birthday before?”

So they were meant to be celebrated, then? Byleth couldn’t recall her father ever once having celebrated either of their days of birth. Could she possibly have participated in such a celebration without knowing, or might she have done so without remembering? And what kinds of celebrations even were involved? There was maddeningly so much she didn’t know.

What had she been doing all her life?

“I don’t think so,” Byleth answered stiffly. “Are they important?”

“Fairly so,” was Dimitri’s hesitant response.

_Of course._ Byleth looked away. A pervasive silence hung over them, until the sound of his breath punctured it.

“When is your birthday, Professor?” Dimitri asked, again with that shining smile. “I would love to help you celebrate—the whole class would, I’m sure.”

Byleth expected that might actually be so, but…her jaw would not work. Presumably she had a birthday—there must have been a day on which she was born. But which one? She could not recall.

“It seems I must rescue you yet again,” Sothis said with a heavy sigh. “You may recall we share the same day of birth? The twentieth day of Red Wolf Moon.”

“The twentieth day of Red Wolf Moon,” Byleth repeated aloud. It did sound familiar, but Byleth knew she would not have arrived to the date on her own.

“Ah, a month ahead of mine, to the day,” Dimitri said.

Careful not to smudge her precious new list, Byleth examined her calendar. “…in Ethereal Moon?”

“Yes. A bitterly cold time in Faerghus. The festivities are a nice change of pace.”

Had she ever had a conversation of this length with anyone but her father? If it could even be called a conversation. All Byleth seemed to be able to do was repeat after Sothis and Dimitri both. A dull ache stretched across the base of her skull. They still had a lesson planned after this. A permanent echo, she asked, “…festivities?”

Dimitri’s patience, it seemed, was persistent as his kindness.

“I can’t speak for the tradition of other countries, but in Faerghus, it’s customary to give gifts. Often there are parties, feasts, dancing—or merely small gatherings with close friends and family.”

Byleth blinked again. A party did not sound like something that she would like, nor could she imagine the tall, awkward young man in front of her dancing—though she could not imagine herself dancing either. She also could not conjure who would constitute his “close friends.” Despite his friendliness, Dimitri always seemed on the edge of the group. The burden of leadership, perhaps? Something about him was different from the others; something a little slow, a little dark—a strange contrast to the brightness of his smile. But whether he was holding his classmates at arm’s length or they were pushing him away, Byleth could not yet discern.

“So…” she began, looking for a way to sound more substantial. “There will be a party tomorrow?”

Dimitri shook his head. “That seems unlikely, but we’ll certainly be doing something to celebrate. I know Mercedes is baking Annette a cake.”

“I see. And what are you doing?”

“Me? Oh, I have a gift. Nothing much—sweets, from the Capital. From Fhirdiad, I mean. To be honest, I struggled to find something appropriate. I don’t know Annette particularly well despite—well, suffice to say I only know she likes sweets.”

He laughed somewhat uncomfortably. Byleth raised her eyebrows. Dimitri seemed almost nervous, and she could not begin to imagine why. Between the shift in his affect and the sheer scale of her ignorance, Byleth did not know how to respond.

And her discomfort had reached its limit.

_Now can I leave?_ Byleth asked Sothis.

“There is still the lesson you scheduled,” Sothis reminded her.

Byleth took a deep breath. She ran a tentative finger over a small section of ink on her list of names. Only a slight smudge. Leaving the notebook open, upright and spine outward against one of the stacks, Byleth pushed her chair back and stood.

“Thank you, Dimitri. Let’s begin the lesson.”

They made their way towards the arena, Dimitri already heading out of the classroom before Byleth specified that was their destination. As they walked, she wondered if her methods were that easily deduced or if Dimitri was simply acutely observant. Upon arrival, she picked up a pair of wooden swords and tossed one to Dimitri. He caught it with ease.

Fighting had always been easier for Byleth than speaking.

Admittedly, she could remember precious little about her life, of her childhood and maturation—but there was something about holding a sword that filled her with a sense of surety. A sword was a solid, certain thing. In her line of work, in her life so far, a sword was an answer to every question, a solution to every problem. A sword did not hesitate. Hesitation had no place; hesitation meant death.

Perhaps that was why Byleth so strongly disliked the uncertainty of conversation. Every hesitation was a moment’s delay: the feeling of dodging too late, of metal scraping leather or biting skin. Every moment she could not find the words to speak, she was unarmed. Exposed. Unable to defend.

The same did not seem true for Dimitri, or so it felt to Byleth. He had a word for every moment, every awkward silence she invited. Even when he seemed embarrassed or when he spoke out of turn, it was obvious to Byleth that he had as much practice with conversation as he did with a lance. In turn, observing him could teach her something about how to survive.

His swordplay, however, was lacking.

Byleth found it a relief to be able to aid him in something for a change, to teach as she had been hired to do. And Dimitri took to her instruction quickly, which made it all the simpler. Time passed swiftly, and by the end of the lesson, Byleth was confident Dimitri had both improved since their last spar and learned something from this lesson—without her breaking his bones or holding a dagger to his throat.

Somehow, breathless and sweating, he seemed brighter. He smiled warmly, and Byleth felt the sensation bloom in her chest again. She turned away. A sword could not help her with this or any of her other feelings.

With more enthusiasm than she was sure was necessary, Dimitri thanked her. Byleth shook her head, but he would not leave it at that.

“Truly, Professor. Your teaching style is quite unlike anything I’ve experienced.”

Byleth was growing increasingly weary of hearing that statement. As though Dimitri could hear her doubt, he spoke again.

“I learned to fight before I learned to read. With a weapon in hand, I learn better than I do from a book. Your efforts are not unappreciated, Professor.”

Byleth gave him a searching look. Was he saying that for her benefit? He appeared sincere enough. And, if it were true, it was another set of things they had in common. Byleth could not recall when she learned to read, nor when she learned to fight, but the dagger around her waist and her experience in battle had taught her more than any book ever had—though she could also not deny she had learned quite a bit from reading. But a book could only teach so much.

Dimitri stood patiently, posture suggesting he expected a response to that as well. Byleth crossed her arms. She had said enough foolish things today. In mute acknowledgment, she nodded, unable to meet his eyes.

“I suppose I should be going then. Thank you again, Professor. I look forward to the next lesson. And…”

He trailed off so suddenly that Byleth looked up. Dimitri was looking at her, frowning.

She did not like that.

Byleth tilted her head, hoping it would prompt him to continue. Dimitri looked to the floor, then back up, directly into her eyes.

“If I may—I see that you’re trying, Professor. We all do. So please—don’t worry.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. There was absolutely no doubt that Dimitri had heard her mumbling aloud to Sothis—to _herself_ —oh no. What else had she said? What else had he _heard?_ Her mind spun as she tried—and failed—to recall.

Dazed, Byleth could only nod again. That Sothis had nothing to say was a blessing and curse both. Dimitri spoke, another jab, unintended or otherwise, that she could not defend against.

“I—I apologize. I didn’t mean to upset you, Professor.”

Byleth turned away, shaking her head. He was entirely too quick. _Upset_. Was that what she should call the burning feeling rising in her throat, the tightness in her chest? She needed the words to end this. “You didn’t. And you’re dismissed.”

A pause, heavy and lengthy.

So she was not unarmed after all.

“O-of course.” The hurt in his voice was unmistakable. Byleth would not allow herself to process the implications, nor turn to see the look on his face. A look she knew she wouldn’t like. “I—thank you, Professor. Good day.”

He walked away. Byleth waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps to turn back around.

* * *

The inhabitants of the monastery would not leave her in peace.

Byleth had hoped to spend her Sunday afternoon quietly, preferably fishing, preferably with her father, but she could not take two steps without someone new calling out to her. Greetings, rantings, recommendations, favors of all kinds, and an endless barrage of questions: could she help this person look for something, or take something to that person? Could she grab some cookbooks from the library? Did she like sweet or spicy foods? Did she prefer the heat or the cold?

And Sothis, the voice in her head, went so suddenly silent that Byleth worried _again_ that she had only dreamt the girl. Perhaps Sothis was sleeping again. Perhaps Byleth was going mad.

It was all still rather overwhelming.

But, to her growing bewilderment, Byleth found the attention was not altogether unpleasant.

She did not like when the conversation dragged on, and the questions often made her grit her teeth—some of them she had never even thought to consider and made up her answer on the spot—but every moment Byleth thought of walking away or responding tersely, she remembered her conversation with Dimitri a few days prior. The tone of his voice before he left. She had noticed a distance between them since, a hesitation before he spoke as though he were holding something back. It made her…“uncomfortable” was not the right word, but she didn’t know another. It disturbed something in her, stoking ashes to renew the smolder in her throat.

Byleth did not wish to inspire further distance, nor would she learn how to wield words if she shied from them.

Or so she kept telling herself.

And as she talked to the others, Byleth found there was a certain warmth in seeing people smile, in watching them light up at her responses or when she brought them something they had been seeking. As though instead of trading blows, they were trading…coin. Money in exchange for goods or services. An interaction of mutual benefit. Every answer, every act, earned her a smile, like when Byleth had not only acknowledged Annette’s birthday but given her a gift as well—a handful of flowers.

The first thing she had ever grown herself.

She had to concede that the gifting of them had been Ashe’s idea—Byleth didn’t realize flowers were even a viable gift—but the look on Annette’s face warmed her all the same.

The ease of their names surprised her as well. With only a few days of studying her notes, Byleth had forged their names to her nicknames like links in a chain. As she passed them, they called to her, and she acknowledged casually by name, as though she had known them all along. The reactions from her students ranged from noncommittal grunts to surprised enthusiasm.

Despite wanting to spend the afternoon alone, when Mercedes and Annette asked her to eat lunch with them, Byleth agreed. There would be time to be alone afterward, she reasoned. The decision rewarded her with more smiles—and a piece of leftover cake from Annette’s birthday celebration. Even two days old, it was delicious. Byleth tried to eat it slowly, to savor the last of the sweet icing, but in the end could not refrain from wolfing it down in several large bites.

Mercedes beamed at her. “Perhaps I’ll make the same cake for your birthday, Professor.”

Byleth swallowed the final piece and nodded. “I’d like that.”

The meal finished, Byleth bid them farewell until class tomorrow and set out for somewhere a little quieter.

The monastery layout was still a mystery, but it was becoming a little clearer to Byleth each time she explored it. From the dining hall, she could see the fishing pond, and the crowd clustered around it, shouting about big catches. Byleth paused, hand against the door frame. She had spoken to quite enough people today, and that much noise would scare any fish that remained. Mind made up, Byleth headed in the opposite direction.

She found herself crossing a bridge she did not recall having seen prior—complete with a lecture on the Empire’s nobility from a Black Eagles student that almost made her turn right back around—and through a portcullis into a great, domed cathedral.

The cathedral was, of course, not empty either, but it was easier to pretend as though it were with its size.

Like most of the monastery buildings, the ceiling of the cathedral stretched to the sky, as did the stained-glass windows, as though they were meant to house something larger than a person could ever be. Wide columns adorned with gilded plaques and engraved with statues in the likeness of a woman reached from floor to ceiling to support the ambitious height. Framing the central walkway were simple wooden pews, a stark contrast to the grandiose marble floors, so polished they appeared immaculate. At the end of the walkway was a central bright spot, and directly overhead, a great glass dome let in the sunlight to illuminate the large dark pattern on the floor—Byleth recognized it from the Knights’ insignia and various other places throughout the monastery. The Crest of Seiros, maybe?

She had only recently become aware of Crests, and only vaguely at that. They seemed critical to everyone else who mentioned them, as though having a Crest, and which Crest they had, dictated a person’s future. Several of her students seemed to bear one. One of her colleagues, the professor of the Golden Deer, had dedicated his entire life of study to them. Byleth herself even possessed one, though her entire life it had neither mattered nor even manifested. And— _Hanneman_ , that was the other professor’s name—Hanneman had told her that her Crest was yet “undiscovered,” illuminating one mystery only to reveal another. Perhaps she could ask Hanneman to give her more information about the Crests of her students; he was knowledgeable enough. Though…the man was prone to verbosity. Someone else then? Dimitri had offered—

The smoldering feeling kindled into something stronger, the tightness in her chest returning. Like a bloodless wound.

What was this feeling? And how on earth could she get rid of it?

If it felt like a wound, perhaps she could treat it like one. The first step was to remove the cause of the ailment. And she had, right? The conversation had ended long ago. Next, a wound needed to be cleaned and dressed to prevent infection and encourage healing. So, she should…well…

_Sothis, what should I do?_

Byleth shook her head. She wasn’t sure why she asked, or why she expected a response. Perhaps the answer would come to her as she walked.

The sound of her heels on the floor echoed as she moved deeper into the cathedral. A few heads turned, but no one approached or called out to her. Byleth suspected that if someone had, they would promptly have been shushed. The cathedral gave off an atmosphere of quiet contemplation; it was not a place that encouraged verbal communication.

She found that something of a relief.

Less of a relief was the presence of the Archbishop’s advisor in the corner. _Seteth_ , the name came to her. Byleth had done her best so far to avoid him whenever possible. His constant scrutiny gave her the distinct impression that no matter what she said or did, Seteth found her unsatisfactory. She doubted herself enough without Seteth glaring at her over Lady Rhea’s shoulder.

So when he, too, waved her over and quietly asked for a favor, to say that Byleth was surprised was an understatement. It was a simple request: to listen for and report back if she heard anything regarding another branch of the church. It would require her to spend more time around people, but declining seemed the quicker way to irk Seteth, so she said she’d keep an ear open and turned back towards the cathedral entrance.

Halfway to the door, a stifled groan stopped her.

Byleth turned to the sound and found a woman digging intently through a stack of papers in her arms. When she reached the bottom of the pile, she shook her head in disbelief, inhaled deeply, and began from the top of the stack once more. When the second search disappointed her, she looked up, mouth a thin, frustrated line.

When her eyes met Byleth’s, her look softened, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

“Oh, Professor Eisner. Hello.”

Byleth greeted her with a nod, but the woman had already returned her attention to the stack of papers, beginning a third harried hunt through. Again, she did not seem to find what she was looking for. When she noticed Byleth still staring at her, her blush deepened.

“Please, don’t mind me. I’m just…looking for something.”

Byleth tilted her head. The woman looked…upset. Was this how she had appeared to Dimitri when he heard her speaking to Sothis? As though she were in pain? And he had carried the memory of that pain through the lesson and then tried to relieve it.

And she had rebuffed him.

That was the wound.

And treating it meant speaking to him.

Byleth took a step forward.

“Do you need help?” she asked.

“I—well, I—yes, I do,” the woman said, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’ve lost the sign-up sheet for the choir. I can’t get it started without student participation, but I’m so behind on my work that I can’t leave to circulate a new one.”

“I am headed towards the students,” Byleth told her.

“Professor Eisner, thank you, but I’m sure you’re too busy for something like this.”

Byleth shook her head. “I’d like to help.”

The woman shot Byleth a desperate look and shifted the papers in her hand. “If—if you’re quite certain, then—”

She set the stack down on a nearby pew and picked up a thin wooden board with a small attached inkwell. She held it out to Byleth with a quill and a clean sheet of paper on top.

“I need signatures from students who’d like to join the choir.”

Byleth took the board with a nod. The woman’s relief was instantaneous. This time, Byleth embraced the warmth in her chest.

“May the goddess smile on you, Professor Eisner.”

She started with the Eagles student on the bridge.

He signed the sheet with great enthusiasm, and Byleth learned another name. The ensuing student reactions were similar. Most were curious, some were confused (hadn’t they signed up already?), and a few were outright overjoyed. The less-enthusiastic signed up with a push from their classmates, and by the time Byleth approached Dimitri, she was running out of space on the sheet.

He smiled as she approached, but restrained, the tightness of the expression a reflection of the feeling in her chest.

“Hello, Professor.”

“Dimitri, I’m sorry.”

His eyes widened. Sharply, he looked down, then back up, a different kind of smile on his lips. One that did not reach his eyes.

“I’m sure you’ve nothing to apologize for, Professor.”

Byleth narrowed her eyes. Was there a single injury he would not attempt to hide from her?

“Following your lesson Thursday,” she said, as though he had not objected. “You were being kind. I’m sorry for being unkind in return. I appreciated what you said.”

Dimitri held her gaze for several long moments. And then—slowly, gently, a warmth overtook his features. A smile, broad and full, lit his face fully, the light in his eyes bright as the sun in the sky.

The tightness in Byleth’s chest burst into something that set her nerves alight.

“As I’ve said, there’s… there’s nothing to apologize for, Professor,” he said softly. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Byleth squeezed the board in her hand and looked down. She cleared her throat. “Choir. I need signatures for a choir.”

Dimitri blanched, reaching a hand to the back of his head. “I’m not certain I can help with that.”

Byleth shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt to try.”

Dimitri grinned wryly. “Ah, but you’ve never heard me sing, Professor.”

“The rest of the class has signed up so far.” Byleth said, hand on her hip. “And no one else has turned me down yet.”

“Far be it from me to be the first then,” Dimitri sighed. He took the board and signed his name near the bottom. “Perhaps it’ll bring the Blue Lions closer together.”

“That’s the spirit,” Byleth said, reclaiming the board. Dimitri regarded her with surprised amusement. She left him there with a small wave and made her way towards the training grounds.

A couple students from each house were sparring together in pairs. To one side, Byleth saw some of hers—Felix and Ingrid, locked in a tense match. When they finally lowered their weapons and stepped back, Byleth approached, brandishing the sign-up sheet at them.

“Felix, Ingrid. Do you want to sign up for choir?”

“For—for what?” Ingrid asked, clutching her lance to her chest.

“Choir,” Byleth reiterated. “Singing, in the cathedral.”

Felix gave the list a cursory glance and scoffed.

“No,” he said, raising his wooden sword again. “Come on, Ingrid. I want to get more sparring in before dinner.”

Ingrid ignored him, surveying the list with a groan. “Ugh, Sylvain signed up. I guess I have to, too. Felix, sign up with me.”

“No,” Felix repeated, jabbing at the air. He considered the sword a moment and then exchanged it at the weapon rack for a pair of training gauntlets.

“Why not?” Ingrid asked. Byleth had spoken to enough people today that she could think of several reasons why he wouldn’t want to.

“Time spent singing is time I’m not practicing with a sword,” he said. That would have been her chief reason, too. But Felix had more. “And I don’t need to be involved in anything the boar prince is.”

_The boar prince? Does he mean…_

“Felix! Stop referring to His Highness like that. Informality is one thing—calling him names is something else entirely.”

_He does._ Byleth cocked her head. So they had nicknames for each other as well? Something about the name struck her as vaguely familiar, as though she had heard it before. But Ingrid’s tone suggested it was not especially polite.

Byleth asked, “Why do you call him that?”

Felix scowled.

“For years, the boar prince and I were inseparable. I know him better than almost anyone else. So let me give you some advice.” He extended a gauntlet towards her. “Beneath all that princely polish, he’s an animal, nothing more.”

Byleth blinked in surprise but said nothing. That did not sound anything like Dimitri. Felix arched an eyebrow at her and bent his knees, readying for an attack.

“He’s strong and skilled, sure. But don’t place your trust in him as a human being. Take care he doesn’t chew you up and spit you out.”

_“Felix!”_ Ingrid snarled, so red with anger that Byleth took a step back. “That’s _enough_.”

She surged forward with a heavy swing of her lance. Dryly, Felix laughed. Byleth did not catch the words he goaded Ingrid with further. Byleth sighed and stepped back to the sidelines. When this fight finished, she expected to say a few words to her students about keeping their tempers, but in the meantime, she would watch to ensure their injuries weren’t severe.

The fight was absorbing—their speed impressed her, and Felix was a decent brawler—but Byleth heard the Black Eagles professor approach regardless of the distraction.

“Professor Eisner—I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” she shouted, hurrying over to Byleth. _Manuela_. That was it.

“I’ve been out all day,” Byleth said.

“I _know_ , and that’s been the trouble! I’m glad I finally tracked you down—I came to tell you that I’ve had the choir sign-up sheet with me all along—I was keeping it, er, safe. In my room.”

Manuela held out the sheet, slightly torn and mysteriously stained. Byleth handed her board back.

“It’s fine. I’ve already replaced it.”

Manuela surveyed the list with a sound of approval. “My, my, Professor! So many names here—far more than the old sheet.”

She tore the old sheet in half and stuffed the pieces of it somewhere beneath her fur shawl. Byleth furrowed her brow.

“I don’t see your name on this list, dear,” Manuela said.

The furrow deepened. “I was told to get student signatures.”

“Naturally—but that doesn’t mean you can’t attend either."

Byleth frowned. The possibility that she could get roped into this had not occurred to her. She wasn’t certain she had sung a single time in her life.

“Come, now! It’ll be great fun! And you’ll set a wonderful example for your students.”

_Damn_. That was as good a reason as any. And if Dimitri had done so for the sake of the class, Byleth could, too. Reluctantly, she added her name to a corner of the sheet and returned her attention to Felix and Ingrid. They appeared to be cooling down.

“While I’ve got you here, I’d like to extend an invitation to your class for a seminar I’m holding at month’s end.” Manuela said. Byleth was not entirely fond of her tone. “Given the frequency with which your students end up in my infirmary, I thought you might have an interest.”

Byleth crossed her arm. “What is the subject of the seminar?”

“White magic.”

Byleth turned her head.

“Thought that might pique your interest,” Manuela laughed.

Byleth nodded.

“The Blue Lions will be there.”

**Author's Note:**

> Me: "Yeah I want to update more frequently."  
> Also me: "What if I was a snail, only three inches tall, that could only touch the keys so quickly??"
> 
> This chapter started as two chapters! Which got split! So if I say "hopefully the next one will be sooner," we all know what will happen. :'D but I'm working on it, as Dimitri says, "slow, and steady."
> 
> Also! I know Byleth’s canon birthday is Horsebow Moon, but I have it set in Red Wolf Moon to make Remire maximum dramatic. >:)
> 
> Title inspiration! Paresthesia is the medical term for "pins and needles," the way Byleth might start to view the feelings she's having: strange sensations with no seemingly physical cause. For music, Metric's "Help I'm Alive" and Temper Trap's "Sweet Disposition" strikes a chord with me for Byleth here. Gonna make that playlist someday. :P 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! If you're enjoying this story, please leave me a comment--it truly makes my day. <3


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